I Don't Do Guns
by inspired-looney
Summary: There is a reason Eliot doesn't do guns, but he's never said why.


AN - Not mine, I own nothing, if I did Eliot would never be clothed.

Feedback is life, please leave me some. Thanks.

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Eliot Spencer doesn't like guns. They are messy and unpredictable and very dangerous in untrained hands. The team keep asking why and he just says "cause." He'll never tell anyone the truth, like so many of his secrets; it'll go with him to his grave.

"Ben, come on, it'll be fun," Eliot almost squeed with excitement.

It was his tenth birthday and amongst the usual load of clothes and footballs, came the one thing he'd really wanted, a pellet gun. He'd watched his dad and friends go hunting once a month for as long as he could remember, coming home with their prize, ready to be cut and served for dinner. His dad had already taught him how to handle the knife, to skin and prepare the meat, ready for mom to cook it up, but he'd always been cautions about letting the young boy handle a gun, but after months of pleads from his young son, he'd finally relented and started him off with the same choice of weapon he'd once been given, a harmless pellet gun.

Now, standing outside their farmhouse, Eliot was once more pleading, but this time, for his best friend to come with him, join him in his first forage into the world of hunting, stalking his prey, getting the upper hand and using his handy gun to take it out and scoff it for dinner.

"I dunno Eliot," Ben replied, "I really don't like guns," he continued, not looking at his friend, rather focussing on kicking around a rock at his feet, not wishing to see the disappointment in his friend's face, or allow that disappointment to change his mind.

At only ten years old Eliot Spencer was already a formidable force. Slightly short for his age, but what he lacked in height he more than made up for with speed and strength. His mousy brown hair was cropped short, he'd wanted to grow it, to honour his mom's Native American heritage, but his father was having none of it and kept the young lad's hair as short if he was in the army. He'd been taught all sorts of sports from football to wresting, to karate from a very young age and showed great aptitude for anything physical, whilst his piercing blue eyes were a window to the gentle soul that lurked beneath the surface.

At almost his polar opposite, Ben Stewart was tall and lanky. Although very thin, he never moved quickly. He had not yet grown into his long limbs and tripped over them more often than not. His white blond hair hung around his pale face, long and messy and always in his way. He was a reader rather than a fighter. Where Eliot loved his karate class, although Ben went with him, he'd much rather be tucked up at home with a book, than rolling around a matt learning how to hurt people. He knew that karate was not about hurting people, it was about self defence, but that concept appeared to be lost on their teacher. Ben was inquisitive; his cool grey eyes were always moving, taking in everything around him, and storing the knowledge for future use.

"Come on Ben," Eliot pleaded, "everyone around here has a gun; it's like a rite of passage to learn to shoot."

"But people get hurt with guns," he squeaked, not wanting to disappoint his friend, especially not on his birthday, but he really didn't want to pick up any sort of weapon.

"It's only a pellet gun; the only thing that will get hurt is the birds." Eliot finished, strong and confident, he didn't wait for a response before traipsing off into the woods and searching for his prey. He didn't have to look to see if his friend was following, he knew Ben wouldn't leave him, they were best friends, they did everything together, where one went, the other followed, and it was just a fact of their lives, one that nothing could change.

Eliot's eyes searched the trees and bushes surrounding them, listening keenly for any sound that would give away the location of his dinner. Ben followed behind, keeping his distance so as not to disturb his friend who appeared focused on the challenge. It didn't take long for Eliot to spot his target, a jet black raven, sitting perched on a tree, finishing off its dinner.

Eliot crouched low to the ground, hiding behind a bush, so as to observe his prey, learn its movements, trying to figure out the best place to aim so as not to ruin the meal, but ensure he did enough damage to make the death quick and as painless as possible.

The raven moved from tree to tree, searching for more food, finding some and returning to its nest. Moving again to drink from the lake behind the Forrest, before again, returning to the same tree.

"Eliot," Ben whispered, "I'm hungry, can we go get some cake?"

"Shh," Eliot replied, not turning to face his friend, "we can't go back till I have something to show my dad."

"But it's been over an hour," Ben moaned, "I'm tired and bored."

"Fine, go if you want, I'll be in soon."

"Come with me, we can play with something else."

"No, I'm staying here till I get this bird," Eliot replied, more than a little annoyed that his friend didn't share his enthusiasm.

"Fine, I'm going back," Ben replied, getting up and walking away.

"Thanks Ben," Eliot yelled after him, "you made so much noise you've scared him away, now I need to start again!"

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to," he replied, looking at his feet once more, "why don't you just give up for today? Smells like your mom has made dinner?"

"I told you, I can't go back till I shoot something, and Dad said I wasn't ready for my own gun, I have to show him I can handle it."

"Fine, I'll see you later." Ben finished before turning and continuing to walk away.

"Fine then," Eliot yelled after him, "it's only my birthday, not like my best friend should want to do whatever I want to do on my birthday!" he finished, stalking off in the other direction, finding a new perch with which to wait and see if the raven once more returned to the tree.

It didn't take long until he heard a noise heading his way, a swishing that could only be a bird heading in his direction.

He readied himself, holding the gun tight in both hands, aiming to the same point in the tree the bird had been sitting earlier. It appeared from nowhere and landed exactly as predicted. Eliot lined up the shot, took a breath and started to squeeze the trigger.

"Hey," a voice said, appearing suddenly behind him, almost as if from nowhere.

Before he knew what had happened, Eliot turned towards the voice, his finger still squeezing the trigger and his little toy gun went off.

A yelp escaped Eliot's lips as the force from the small toy gun made him lose his balance and stumble backwards. It took him a second to recover and turn back to his friend; ready to tell him off for once again ruining his chance of getting his prize, but Ben wasn't standing there anymore.

Eliot looked down at his friend, lying on the leaves and dirt of the Forest floor, hands over his chest, covered in blood, the colour draining from his face.

"Oh my god Ben," Eliot said, running to his friend, "What happened?"

But Ben was unable to reply as the blood seeped from the wound.

"Don't worry, I'll get help," he said, hesitating slightly, wondering if he should carry his friend back to the house or go and get someone, not knowing what would be quicker and if he should even move him, he didn't know what to do. He made a decision, smiling at his friend and turning, running as fast as he could back home, grabbing his dad, dragging him back to the woods, but by the time they got there it was too late.

The coroner had said the force of the shot and Eliot's proximity to Ben when he fired made the pellet go straight through his chest and lodge itself in his heart. Ben bled to death within a few minutes, alone in the woods.

From that moment on, Eliot Spencer decided two things, he'd never celebrate his birthday again and he hated guns.


End file.
